


Stacks

by etben



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 17:50:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etben/pseuds/etben
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're in the library, of all fucking places, which would be bad enough, but they're there on a goddamn Friday afternoon. Which, seriously, makes him want to shoot himself, or maybe Fraser.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stacks

**Author's Note:**

> Neither Ray, nor Fraser, nor the Joseph Regenstein Library belong to me. No, really. I'm doing this for fun and because I'm certifiable, and I am making no money off of any of this.

Ray can't believe it.

They're in the library, of all fucking places, which would be bad enough, but they're there on a goddamn Friday afternoon. Which, seriously, makes him want to shoot himself, or maybe Fraser.

If it were for a case, that'd be one thing. After that first day, when he'd driven a burning car into the lake, he'd pretty much decided: working with Fraser, he was going to have to get used to weird stuff. That 'no-funny-business' policy of his? Gone, gone, gone, because Fraser is all over funny business, even if you wouldn't think it, to look at him. Working with him, Ray's more or less gotten used to doing bizarre shit in the line of duty. It always works, anyway, so he can't really complain.

But that's in the line of duty, doing his job. This? This is completely different. Ray can complain about this, and he's going to.

They're here in the library because—Ray cannot believe this—because something from the case they've just closed (the one with the mimes, which is different from the one two months ago, with the clowns, which is also not the same as the one last June, with the circus troupe) made Fraser think of some book he's been wanting to read.

The whole situation makes Ray think of the books that Frannie's kids always ask them to read, when she brings them in with her on school holidays. There's one, in particular—something about a mouse, and how the mouse never asks for anything, but if you give it a cookie, well, of course it wants milk to go with it, and then a napkin, and all kind of crazy shit. Fucking demanding mouse, if you ask Ray, but the point is that Fraser is just like that mouse. He never asks for anything, but you wind up giving it to him anyway, because you can't make him go without it.

So they're in the library. It's not even a normal library, because of course the book that Fraser wants isn't available at the public library. No, they're down at the fucking University of Chicago, which always creeps Ray out, a little (too many gargoyles and shit). They're there, Fraser because he wants a book on modern analyses of Inuktitut; Ray because he wasn't going to let Fraser walk down there when he could drive, and then he wasn't going to just leave him there, and then he wasn't going to wait in the car, no way no how. So, lucky Ray! he gets to flash his badge at the desk attendant, who looks completely unimpressed, and head on in to the Joseph Regenstein Library.

Fucking great.

And they're up on the fourth floor, back in the back where the shelves are all packed together—"the stacks, Ray," Fraser tells him, and, yeah, Ray can see that. They're stacked, back here, really squeezed in, rows of shelves leaning into each other every direction he looks. It's dark, too—Ray flips on the light, when they come in, but it only lights up one little row of shelves, and it goes out after a few minutes.

"Well, of course, Ray," Fraser says, when he asks. "The lights are set to turn off after a set period of time—I believe it's eight minutes, here. It helps conserve electricity, which as I'm sure you understand is—ah, here we are!" And then he's dropping to his knees, flipping through the books on the lower shelves, occasionally taking one out to glance through it. Ray just leans back against the shelf, on the other side of the aisle, and admires the view: Fraser, out of uniform for a change, bent over and muttering to himself as he goes from one book to the next. He's right under the light, lit up against a background of dark shelves in all directions. Over to the left, Ray can see the weak winter sun coming in through the narrow windows, but that's going fast. Mostly, what he sees is Fraser.

It's a pretty sweet view, and Ray grins, a little, because he's allowed to think things like that, now that he and Fraser are sharing a bed on a semi-regular (and very naked) basis. He's allowed to look at Fraser's ass, and his shoulders, and his hands, and think about what he'd rather be doing with them. It's OK if he wants to hurry Fraser up, because he's Fraser's partner, and so he gets to do things like that, so that later, the two of them can do—other things.

And, damn. Now he's got himself thinking about sex, and Fraser, and sex-and-Fraser, and he's thinking thoughts he's probably not supposed to think in a library.

Although—hey, it's a college library, so maybe they wouldn't mind? Anyway, it's not like that's going to stop him.

Fraser's still looking through the books, so Ray leans back against the shelves, reaches down to adjust himself where his jeans are starting to get uncomfortable, and thinks about sex-and-Fraser.

First thing he'd do, he thinks, would be to just walk up against Fraser, his front to Fraser's back, forcing him to straighten up and trapping him against the stacks. Fraser'd pretend to ignore him for as long as he could, of course, but Ray'd know better.

Because, see, Fraser's quiet about it, but the thing is, he's pretty much always ready for sex. Any time, any place—all Ray has to do is say the word, or, hell, even look at Fraser the right way, and bam! Sex, sex, sex.

The crazy thing is, Ray's pretty sure it's always been this way. Fraser keeps himself so buttoned up the rest of the time, which means that all that sex drive is just waiting for a chance to bust out as soon as there's someone to do the busting with. Ray just didn't notice, before, since he and Fraser weren't doing the wild thing, and so Ray hadn't known that when Fraser takes a deep breath and his nostrils do that weird little thing that they do, that's because Fraser's smelling something that's making him seriously hot under the collar. He didn't know, back Before Sex, that when Fraser kind of chews on his lower lip and then ducks his chin into his chest, a little, it's because he really wants to do the kind of licking that they arrest you for, if you try it in public. He's only just learned that when Fraser's hard, he almost always leans against a wall, hunches in more around himself.

And now that Ray knows all of Fraser's little tells, the little ways his body says _sex! Now! Yes!_—well, Ray figures it's his duty to take care of things. He's sure as hell not going to let anyone else do it, after all.

So, yeah. Scoot up against Fraser, nice and close, rub up against his back until he twitches and grunts. Wait until he braces his arms, getting ready to shove Ray back, and then slide his hands around, into Fraser's pants. That's always nice—the first feeling of Fraser's dick, hot and solid in his hands. They'd have to be quick, of course, so he'd get right to work, jerking Fraser off hard and fast, until—

"The books! Ray!"

—and doesn't it figure? Even in Ray's head, Fraser has to be responsible. Jesus.

So, OK, fine. No jerking off on the books. Gotcha. Doesn't mean they'd have to stop, though. Ray'd just spin Fraser around, back him up against the shelves again, and drop to his knees again, never mind that it hurts more than it used to to do that. The look on Fraser's face—like seeing Ray on his knees is better than all the porn in the world, like it's all the porn Fraser will ever want or need—is worth it.

Still have to be fast, so there wouldn't be any time for messing around. One hand on the base of Fraser's dick, the other on his hip, and Ray'd just suck him fast and sloppy, go for maximum pleasure in minimum time. Fraser wouldn't say anything—for someone who talks so much the rest of the time, he's weirdly quiet during sex—but his quads would tense and he'd be breathing hard, and maybe Ray'd pull off for just a second, pull off and look up at Fraser, watch him suck in a deep breath.

He'd have his hands on the shelves, maybe, or just barely on Ray's shoulder, or, yeah, soft and gentle in Ray's hair, just sort of petting it, sculpting it with his fingers. He'd probably rub the spot right behind Ray's left ear, where the earpiece on his glasses digs in and makes a little dent in the skin. Ray'd moan, of course, and Fraser'd go stiff, jerk his hips forward, and—

"Ray. Ray. Ray!"

In the space of about thirty seconds, Ray realizes three things:

1\. Fraser is staring at him, probably because

2\. Ray's leaning against the shelves with one hand pressing down against the front of his pants, _this close_ to jerking off in a goddamn library, but

3\. Fraser's hard, too, and his nostrils are doing that freaky little thing they do.

Which is when the environmentally-conscious lights go off.

Next comes a whirl of motion in the dark. Ray doesn't really figure out what's going on until it's already over, with him propped up against one of the support pillars and Fraser pressed up against him, whispering in his ear.

"Shhh, Ray," he says, and Ray barely even has time to register the bite on the side of his neck before Fraser's gone, slithering to the floor and taking Ray's pants most of the way with him.

Holy shit.

At the first touch of Fraser's mouth—he always goes for it tongue-first, which is no surprise at all—Ray groans. He can't help it. Fraser stops and looks up. In the dying light, his face is a pale blur. Ray can just barely see the dark glint of his eyes, the glossy wet slash of his mouth, round and open and obscene. And—moving?

"Ray, be quiet," Fraser says, "this is a library!" He doesn't wait for Ray to respond—which, Ray can admit, is probably a good thing.

So now Fraser's giving Ray the blowjob that Ray was thinking of giving him, before—nothing fancy, just tight wet warmth that manages to hit all of his sweet spots at once, it feels like. For his part, Ray's mostly just trying like hell not to moan, because he doesn't want Fraser to stop again. It's hard, because _he's_ hard, and Fraser has his hands on Ray's hips and is blowing him with the single-minded intensity of someone who really gets off on this.

Funnily enough, it's the same intensity that generally means Ray's about five minutes from coming his brains out. Well, probably three, now, because he's already spent at least two minutes trying to bite his lip and gasp at the same time.

He looks down, then, sees Fraser's mouth around the head of his cock and his skinny pale fingers laced in Fraser's hair, and that's it, that's all for him, he's throwing his head back and coming so hard he sees stars.

Or maybe that's from the pillar, which is solid cement, and which he smacked his head into, when he was throwing it back. He thinks about that—funny, how much a really good orgasm and a knock on the head have in common—and by the time he comes back to Planet Earth, Fraser's tucked him back in his pants and generally tidied them both up. You'd never guess that Fraser just blew him.

Fraser just blew him. In the Joseph Regenstein Library.

"Come on, Frase," Ray says, because there's no way Fraser will let him return the favor here-and-now, which means they need to get back to Ray's place fast, before he dies of not touching Fraser. "Grab your books and let's go."

"Just a moment, Ray," he says, and he's—what the hell?

"Fraser," Ray asks, already pretty sure that it's a stupid question but needing to ask anyway, "why are you putting the books back on the shelves? I mean, I thought that the point of this exercise was to get you some books, not that I am in any way objecting to the—to the other aspects." It's hard to tell, since the lights are still off, but he's pretty sure that Fraser's turning red.

"Ah, well, actually, Ray—" he pauses to slot another book back in its place "—I was only in search of one book, at this particular time." He holds it up, waving it like a shield, but Ray's smarter than that.

"You did it on purpose, didn't you?" Fraser's definitely red, now; it's visible even in the half-light from the windows. "You stayed there because I was watching you, and because you liked it—am I right, Fraser?"

"Well, actually, Ray—"

"Fraser."

"Yes."

"Yeah, OK. That's cool. Come on," he says. He grabs Fraser's arm, and he can tell from the way that his breath hitches that Fraser's not nearly as cool as he's playing it. That's good, that's great.

Ray's not mad at him for that stunt—there's no way for him to be, really, considering that he just got the best blowjob of maybe his entire adult life—but he's going to make Fraser pay, make no mistake. As soon as they get out of here, he's going to blow Fraser's cool (and probably other things, too).


End file.
